


Broken Crown

by semele



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: Bellamy decides he doesn't like lying about how many people the Ark can actually sustain.(This is a genfic, and it's gloomy enough that I didn't manage to make Bellamy and Raven make out. I'm still tagging the ship to signify that I REALLY freaking tried.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based loosely on what I am told happens in s4, since I haven't seen anything but gifs from 3x02 onwards. A summary for those who, like me, are out of the loop: 
> 
> Going by what I was told, they’ll have another nuclear explosion in six months, so they’re trying to turn what’s left of the Ark into a bunker. The Ark can produce enough water to keep a hundred people alive for some years. They have five hundred people. Bellamy tried to get a device that would fix it, but he couldn’t do it without sacrificing lives, so he came back empty-handed. Clarke lies to everyone and tells them the Ark can sustain five hundred.
> 
> As for this fic, I have no clue what I'm doing, but I want to share feelings. It might end up being just a one-shot, or I might pick it up and write a few more chapters (in which case I will definitely aim for a much higher rating tbh). I would welcome any advice you'd like to give me.

For once, Bellamy refuses to feel bad about what he did.

(He does feel bad about it, damn it, because Raven’s words keep ringing in his head, and he doesn’t like that she has a point. But, God, being able to live with himself is addictive, more than anything he’s ever felt, and he won’t lose it, he won’t. Not again.

Five hundred people in camp. The Ark can make water for one hundred people. Six months on the countdown. How many weeks of being able to look at himself does he have left?)

He decides to be a reasonable person. Listens to Clarke’s lies, has them falling down his throat smoothly until they feel like rocks in his stomach, then watches Raven turn the rocks in hers into contempt and spit them out, one by one, _your dad would be so proud_. Bellamy keeps his silence. This, here, is his doing, it’s people bearing the consequences of his actions. His actions have weight, and so he can’t act rashly. He needs to sleep on this.

Predictably, he lasts until what seems to be between one and two in the morning, then goes to the workshops, knowing he’d find Raven still working.

“What do you want?” she barks, because clearly he, too, is on her shit list today.

“Some consequences.”

Raven clearly has not time for his bullshit, and she lets him know with a snort, but still, he has her attention. At least he has her attention. That counts for something, doesn’t it?

“Come on,” he says quietly, wary of the night workers around them. “I’m tired of taking orders.”

“I’m game if I get to set shit on fire.”

***

He speaks to everyone the very next morning, his eyes red and bleary, his tongue clumsy from lack of sleep. He starts with what he knows, six months, five hundred, six months, five hundred, then takes a deep breath.

“We thought we’d have enough resources, but it turns out the Ark can only produce enough water to sustain one hundred people. We went to find a generator that would fix the problem, but we failed. We couldn’t get it without sacrificing lives. All the mechanics and engineers are working on a solution, but we need more. We need to put our heads together, and you deserve to know the stakes.”

It makes the camp explode into dozens of tiny fires, and for a second, Bellamy feels smaller than ever, the whole weight of his choice on his shoulders. Some people nod and some people scream, and one girl moves as if she wanted to hit him, except someone next to her catches her mid-motion, don’t, not yet. Let him speak.

Bellamy hasn’t spoken like this, a podium and a crowd, for what feels like years, and now that he finished giving out the bare facts, his tongue is tied. He is a soldier and he gave his report, what else is there to say?

What if it’s not his place to say anything?

“I know you’re scared,” he says in a soft voice, then takes a deep breath. It _is_ his place, damn it. Every day, he pays a hefty price for it to be. “I know you’re angry. You should be. We get impossible choices put in front of us over and over again, and sometimes things happen so fast that someone has to choose for us. Sometimes people think they know better than us, and then we have to bear the consequences of that. But not this time. This time we have six months. That’s time enough for every single one of us to have a say. But as for me, I’m done leaving people behind. So let’s take a day to think, and let’s meet here again tomorrow. Let’s put our heads together. Just know that if your solution turns out to be to only save one hundred, you can work on that without me. There’ll be no population reduction. No leaving people behind. Not on my watch.”

When he steps back into the silence of Raven’s workshop, it’s as if everyone is staring at him, just like they used to back when it really was just a hundred of them. Or maybe not. Maybe there is something different to it.

“There,” says Raven once she sees him, and points at a cot in the corner she keeps here mostly for herself. “You look like death. Go. Nap.”

He wants to argue, he really does, high on adrenaline, and fear, and the familiar thrill of _speaking_ again, but before he can open his mouth, Raven gives him such a look he immediately reconsiders.

“Wake me in two hours?” he asks as he shrugs off his jacket.

“Three.”

Three it is.

***

 _No leaving people behind_ rolls through camp time and time again , goes up in whispers until Bellamy feels like they’re the only words he hears when he walks towards his quarters after a long, long workshop shift. He probably shouldn’t have spoken like that, shouldn’t have given such a clear indication of what he feels is right. 

But then: why wouldn’t he? He’s no Chancellor. It’s not his job to be a mediator. He’s so much better at rallying.

Clarke catches up with him at some point, and throws his words back at him, then keeps throwing and throwing until there is a small crowd around them, and Bellamy realizes is too tired, too lost in thought to register a single thing she says. 

No matter. There are so many words said in camp this night that no one will notice if he loses these few.

Bellamy spends the evening with Monty, because it’s strangely grounding to spend time with Monty: quiet, but not restful, energy and dissent buzzing underneath and keeping him alert. It’s okay. He did well. He can still live with himself, and it doesn’t feel strange to enjoy this feeling here, in Monty’s company. Monty, of all people, always lets you know if you shouldn’t feel like you can live with yourself.

“How do you think it’s gonna go tomorrow?” he asks Bellamy as they’re sharing a modest cup of moonshine. Bellamy shrugs.

“No clue. But I hope it’s loud.”

***

In the end, it almost comes to blood.

It’s the Chancellor and the Council, and guards determined to have order when order hasn’t worked for weeks now, maybe longer than that. It gets tense, then it gets scary, guns loaded and commands half-shouted, when Raven, furious, exhausted, and sharp, stumbles onto the podium, and stands between Bellamy and Abby.

“Go ahead,” she barks, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Float us. Float us all. Who’ll keep you alive then?”

After that, there isn’t really much to left to say.

They manage to disarm the guards without a single shot fired, but when someone suggests Raven should take over as Chancellor, she gives them such a look they step back immediately. No more, Bellamy realizes. No more Council. No more Chancellor. They need to do better now.

They lock the guns in one of the old storages, so they can use them if a threat comes at them from the outside. Maybe one day, Bellamy wonders, they can have a Council of fifty, they can have courts, and laws, and the whole system of checks and balances he used to read about.

For now, they have six months.

It’s not much of a plan, Bellamy thinks as he’s watching Raven brainstorm with engineers in the fire light. But for now, at least, they can still live with themselves.


End file.
